Occupational Hazard
by Southpaw Swordsman
Summary: Duster is just a guy who's an actor in a haunted house. It's not that bad of a gig, except when customers get a little more "fight" than "flight" in their adrenal responses. Inspired by Tumblr user surprisingly-alive-redshirt's AU idea: "actor at a haunted house/person who punches the actor in the face" AU


Duster quietly limped through the shadows of his section of the house, rubber machete in hand. He was on a constant, dutiful patrol, looking for new customers to terrorize.

But, it had been kind of a slow night at the haunted house. No one had shown up in at least a couple hours. He sighed a little, and instantly regretted it, since his entire face was encased in a vintage goalie mask and his rank breath had to linger near his nose much longer than normal. He briefly considered just taking off the mask, as he had considered it several times previously that night. The place was dead, no one would see him do it. He wouldn't ruin the illusion for anyone, he would be able to air it out a little, and hey he'd be able to see a little better.

Being able to see. That'd be nice.

A few nights ago he had tripped over a loose floorboard due to the poor visibility the mask afforded him, and twisted his ankle. The guys said that the limp he earned from that adventure made him look at least five times spookier, but Duster had to admit, he still can't fully appreciate it with his ankle smarting.

He decided to just sit down in a corner of the room for a rest.

Then, suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps.

Visitors?

Duster picked himself up slightly.

"Come on, guys! This way!" a young male voice called.

"S-slow down, Claus!" another young male voice answered, not sounding remotely as brave.

"Wait, hold on, I missed it, what's this section's motif?" a third voice, probably a young woman's, asked.

Three people.

Duster crept a little closer to the sound of their voices, careful to keep out of sight.

He spied the trio near the entrance of his section, each of them holding the flashlights given to them at the start of the tour. The two boys looked like they were probably early teens at most. The young woman seemed older. Old enough to be an adult supervisor, but not old enough to be a parent by any means.

"I think it was something about a slasher," the braver of the boys responded as he played with his flashlight.

The other boy gulped and looked around in fright, turning the beam of his flashlight every which way.

"Ah, don't worry about it," the woman said, ruffling the scared boy's hair, "Nothing's gonna happen."

The braver boy began sweeping his flashlight around the dark room, "Even so, we still have to keep our wits about us. Lucas, stay close."

The scared boy didn't need to be told twice.

Duster watched as the trio slowly made their way through his section of the house, jumping at every shadow, turning towards every little creak. They began approaching the exit, and that was when Duster decided to make his move.

He crept up behind them carefully, hiding behind the atmospheric piles of junk spread haphazardly around the room.

The three lingered at the doorway to the next section, and the woman began speaking, "There, you see, Lucas? It was probably just atmospheric and—"

Duster jumped out at them, rubber machete aloft, with a horror villain-like shout.

His presence was met with a chorus of shouts and shrieks.

Then…

CRACK.

Something hard and fast connected with Duster's face, and the world went black.

The next thing Duster knew, he was flat on his back, his whole head throbbing. He opened his eyes slightly and realized the lights were on. Why were the lights on? He groaned.

"Oh, thank God," he heard a voice say through a sigh of relief. OJ?

Duster squeezed his eyes shut, "OJ? What happened?"

"The girl punched you out. You were unconscious for a couple minutes, and now you've got a really nasty bruise right here," OJ replied. Duster felt OJ's fingers gently trace his throbbing cheek. It was at that moment that Duster realized he wasn't wearing his mask anymore.

"Your mask has a huge crack in it now…but you should be glad you were wearing it, Duster. If you weren't, your face would probably be really messed up," He paused, "How are you feeling? You didn't hit your head when you fell, did you?"

"I have no idea," Duster replied unhelpfully, opening his eyes a little and looking over at his friend, "But everything hurts…"

OJ frowned through his heavy zombie makeup, "Do you think you can sit up?"

Duster shrugged, "I can try."

He began picking himself up, and felt a little wave of dizziness… that probably wasn't a good sign. OJ, after seeing Duster struggle a little, put a hand on Duster's back and helped him to a reasonable upright position. His face filled Duster's vision as he inspected the large bruise, "Yeah, it looks like it'll probably get worse…it's already starting to swell. Does it feel like anything's broken?"

"I… I'm not sure," Duster replied. He brought his hand up to his face and felt it carefully, but he was no doctor… he just knew everything really hurt.

OJ's frown deepened in worry, "We should probably get you looked at, then. Here, let's take you to the break room, and after my shift we'll take you to the clinic, alright?"

"Alright…"

OJ helped Duster to his feet and led him into the small room in the back, cleverly hidden by all sorts of atmospheric garbage. On its door was a little sign that simply read: "Employees only."

Duster sat down on one of the old folding chairs with a sigh, holding his throbbing head in his hands.

"Here," he heard OJ say.

Duster looked up to see OJ offering him a large ice pack. Duster accepted it gratefully and pressed it against his face.

"I have an hour or so before I can leave, so just take it easy until I get back, alright?" OJ said.

"Yeah, no problem," Duster replied.

"Man, first your ankle, now your face. This hasn't been a good week for you, has it?"

"Nope."

OJ patted Duster's shoulder, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Duster sighed. The ice pack dulled the pain somewhat, but jeez. That woman had quite the arm. This was definitely the hardest he had ever remembered getting punched.

Not that he got punched that often.

He closed his eyes and let himself be lulled by the light ticking of the wall clock that hung across from him. He just has to wait an hour.

An hour.

He closed his eyes.

Suddenly, he heard the door click open …did he fall asleep? Had the hour already passed? Duster looked up at the clock. No… it had been hardly a minute.

"Did you forget something, O—" Duster began, turning toward the door.

But it wasn't OJ who had walked in.

Duster froze, his eyes widening considerably as the ice pack nearly fell out of his hand.

It was the woman from before, he was sure of it. Same build, same haircut… though before, in the darkness of the haunted house, he didn't quite see how… _pink_ her hair was. It seemed almost incandescent.

She raised her hands up in a show of peace, "Hey, don't stare at me like a deer in the headlights! I'm not gonna hurt you."

Duster's mouth worked open and closed, until he finally managed to squeak out, "The… sign on the door says employees only."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I won't be here long. I'll make it quick."

"But you're not supposed to be here at all…"

"Look dude, I'm sorry for almost breaking your face back there. I kind of got scared and well, um. Fight response. You know how it is."

Duster shifted uncomfortably, repositioning the ice pack on the bruise, "Yeah… it happens. Getting punched a bit is par for the course in this job…"

The woman smiled awkwardly, "Yeah. So. Really, I just. I guess I wanted to apologize. Is there anything I can do to… uh, help?"

"Um," Duster said, blinking several times in confusion, "No? I think I'm… I think I'm ok."

"Really?" she asked.

Duster gave a quick, jerky nod, causing his headache to flare. He flinched a little, then said, "Um. Yes. I'm ok."

The young woman's face brightened a little, "Alrighty then! Thanks for understanding," and with that, she turned around and zipped out the door.

Merely thirty seconds later, before Duster could fully release the breath he had been holding, she came back in, looking like a scolded puppy, "Look, dude, I can't just leave it at that. You have to let me make it up to you."

Duster shook his head, moving slowly to prevent any extra head pain, "No, I'm good. You're fine. I'm… it's fine."

"Do you like Chinese food?"

Duster frowned in confusion, "…what?"

"I said, do you like Chinese food? I know a good place not too far from here. Maybe I can buy you some food to make up for the fact that I completely punched you out."

"Um."

"Here," the girl walked into the room and picked up a flyer and a pen from the center table. She scrawled something on the back of the flyer, and then handed it to Duster.

"That's my number. Hit me up when you feel up to going."

Duster stared at the flyer, "Miss…"

"Kumatora," the girl corrected, "No Miss."

"Ok, um. Kumatora. You don't need to do this… I'm seriously alright with—"

"Will you be working here for a while?" Kumatora interrupted pointedly.

"Until the season's over…" Duster replied uncomfortably.

"Well if you won't call me, I'll just come over here and MAKE you come with me to get Chinese food. It's only fair."

Duster opened his mouth again, but then closed it. He was fighting a losing battle here. There was no point in trying to argue with her. He sighed in defeat, "…alright."

"Good," Kumatora said with a grin, "Hopefully nothing's broken, I'd hate to screw up your face permanently. You're not half bad lookin' with that mask off."

Duster felt his face heat up slightly, "… thank you?"

"Well, until we meet again!" She zipped out of the door once more.

…only to pop back in again.

"By the way, I never caught your name."

Duster blinked, "Um, it's Duster."

"Great. I'll see you around, Duster."

And with that, she vanished for good, the door clicking closed behind her.

The clock continued to softly tick from its station across the room.

OJ's shift was still far from over.

Duster stared at the flyer in his hand. The woman who punched him in the face, the person who had knocked him out for at least a couple minutes, had just given him her number, and practically asked him out. The guys would probably never let him hear the end of this.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey! Thanks for clicking on and reading this here story of mine.**

 **Hopefully you liked this. It's a little different than a lot of Mother fics I've read, since I decided to be a bit more lighthearted and goofy. It's also a complete AU, which seems pretty rare for some reason. So, sorry for no apocalyptic or dystopian shenanigans going on around here...**

 **I just wanted to add a little more KumaDust to the world, in my own way.**


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